


of fear and lust and pride

by cadyjanis



Series: mean girls [5]
Category: Mean Girls - Richmond/Benjamin/Fey
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Character Study, Childhood Trauma, Depression, F/F, F/M, Feelings Realization, Friendship, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-04-12 14:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19133587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadyjanis/pseuds/cadyjanis
Summary: janis isn’t bothering to quell her tears now, beginning to feel nauseous. she could do it, she has the chance right now. it’s something that should probably happen face to face, but maybe if she doesn’t she definitely never will.her gut twists, and she closes her eyes again. the unknown canvas of the rest of her life awaits, and it could start with this, a single drop of paint.—after a long battle, janis finds her pride.





	of fear and lust and pride

**Author's Note:**

> i love this girl so obviously i decided to make her suffer. (it ends well, i promise.) happy pride month! please heed the tw’s ♡
>
>> **trigger warnings:**   
>  lesbophobia   
>  bullying/harassment   
>  anxiety/panic attacks   
>  suicide mention   
>  self harm mention

The life Janis thought she knew ended when she was twelve.

 

She can picture it just as clearly now as she could the day it happened. Not that she wants to picture it, but she doesn’t really have a say in the matter when it pops back into her head while she’s trying to sleep.

 

Bits and pieces at first, wordless and foggy and quick. Then the lens focuses and she sees it all in high definition, thrust at her without her consent. Regina’s disgusted, sneering face, watching the panic rise on Janis’s, not giving a shit what that accusation was about to do.

 

Janis sometimes wonders if Regina would go back and change it, to stop the damage before it began. Because the moment she said it— _I think you’re a lesbian_ —she opened a wound that still aches, still digs deep into Janis’s core like the words are a blade Regina shoved directly into her chest. That’s how it felt: like she was being stabbed. Slow and deliberate, not even accidentally on purpose. All because Regina felt like it.

 

Sure, she was (almost) thirteen, and kids do nasty stuff. But why did she have to attack a part of Janis that Janis didn’t even know existed yet? Why did she have to dredge it to the surface before Janis was ready? It was a sea and Janis didn’t know how to swim.

 

She didn’t just out Janis to the whole school and ultimately subject her to years of harassment and alienation. She outed Janis to herself, and the fact that she was actually right has haunted Janis for years.

 

So it’s kind of hard to take pride in something that was thrust upon her in such an intrusive and negative way, that lead her to drop out of school and spend hours in therapy and take razors to her wrists because she couldn’t handle that much hurt.

 

What’s supposed to be a beautiful and intricate piece to the puzzle that is who she’s becoming, it’s a jagged edge that can’t find anywhere to permanently fit. Cut from the sad, tattered shreds of her trauma, she’s stuck with it. She grew into it and accepted it reluctantly like a flower that was not willing to bloom.

 

When Janis was twelve years old, Regina George called her a lesbian. Meaning a girl who likes girls. Meaning she was gross and weird and could’ve done a whole number of things to the girls at Regina’s party. She wants to ask Regina what she thought Janis was capable of at that age. What her gentle, artsy hands would possibly do to her friends.

 

There’s a reason Janis now dons oversized jackets with sleeves that fall past her fingertips, and fishnets that create pretty patterns on her legs rather than expose the ugly truth beneath. She is meticulous and careful, but uses her anger as a driving force to make herself seen. She owns it now, because there’s no other option. Regina stripped her of her choices, so she works with the remaining shreds of dignity she somehow has left.

 

In her mind’s eye, the scene shifts, and suddenly she’s taller—standing invisible behind her tinier self, helpless as the memory unfolds. This is worse than remembering it how she usually does, because she’s the person the girl in front of her grows up to be. Someone mangled and bruised and tentative and scared.

 

She had no fear as a kid. She likes to pretend she isn’t afraid out of her mind now, and wants to be as strong as people think she is. As strong as her younger self wants—and needs—her to be.

 

Janis observes as Regina keeps pelting her with snide remarks, questioning her, demanding to know what she is. _I don’t know,_ Janis wishes she’d said. _I don’t know, and you’re scaring me, and I thought we were friends._ But friends don’t do what Regina did, no matter how old or young you are. You don’t use things like this against somebody you care about.

 

You don’t ask _what_ someone is, already implying they are less than human.

 

Regina was asking a question Janis couldn’t yet know or understand the answer to. Regina was a child, but so was Janis. Only Janis began growing up after that day, no longer able to be a kid in a school and world that evidently hated her for just being.

 

The audio dulls, sounding like sloshing waves in her ears, the voices muffled and distant. But it still makes her cringe when she makes her terrified, untrue declaration, _“I AM A SPACE ALIEN AND I HAVE FOUR BUTTS!”_ before turning and running away. She passes through her older self, and Janis presses a hand to her stomach, weakened by the ghost of a person who died on the spot. Colors start to fade from her melting surroundings, and Regina walks off with her friends, hysterically laughing.

 

Janis only has one butt, but to them she may as well have had four, and three eyes, and six legs, and two mouths. Maybe a pair of horns sprouting from her hair for good measure.

 

She squeezes her eyes shut and covers her ears to block out the sound of that awful laughter, but it keeps getting louder the more she tries to fight it. It overwhelms her, knocks the balance from her legs. She collapses, jolting on something soft, and her chest constricts around a knife that’s been lodged inside it for a long time.

 

You’d think she’d be grateful Regina had the decency to not stab her in the back, but having to see her face as she did it is something Janis wishes she could forget.

 

She gasps awake, clutching at her torso in terror that it has been slashed open. But it’s not the first time.

 

Her room is still dark, and she can’t see. So it doesn’t take much to work herself into a panic, or too long for someone to hear. It’s a miracle anybody does, because even after years of therapy, the expectation of isolation that plagued her before Damian hasn’t fully gone away.

 

Her mother holds her until she can breathe again, and even then it’s a struggle. She’s resigned to the fact it might always will be.

 

* * *

 

Cady is rambling about something. Janis isn’t really paying attention.

 

Her head has felt cloudy all day, and though her mom insisted she stay home from school, she felt compelled to go. She knows her friends have picked up on her dull mood—if the bags under her eyes weren’t evidence enough of what a rough night she had—and is grateful they haven’t been pestering her about it.

 

“Whoa, Janis,” Cady is suddenly exclaiming, grabbing hold of the edge of Janis’s jacket to yank her back before she walks into oncoming traffic.

 

She yelps, returning abruptly to her body like she’s been on autopilot this whole time. She leans against the stoplight for balance, feeling dizzy. Cady’s hand is now on her elbow.

 

“Jesus, you okay?” she asks, then cusses under her breath in surprise when Janis slowly sinks to the grass, lightheaded.

 

Cady doesn’t hesitate to fall to her knees beside her, whipping open her backpack to produce a water bottle. “Here, drink,” she urges, and helps her take a sip. Janis coughs, keeping her eyes shut, wary of vomiting on herself and her poor friend.

 

“Sorry,” she rasps, voice barely above a whisper. Despite not having consumed much at lunch, her stomach hurts, and she hugs her middle with her knees drawn up. Making herself small and unimportant.

 

“Don’t apologize,” Cady reassures, rubbing her arm. “What can I do? Can I call your mom?”

 

“No,” Janis tells her, head on the metal post behind her. “Just—sit with me. I’m fine, I just didn’t get a whole lotta sleep last night.” Just talking makes her feel winded.

 

“I don’t think this is because you’re _tired_ ,” Cady starts to say, but takes the hint when Janis’s eye briefly opens to glare at her. “Right, sorry. I’ll be quiet. Starting now.” She zips her mouth closed and tosses away the key.

 

Janis cracks a smile. There’s a faint flutter in her gut that has nothing to do with whatever’s going on inside it otherwise. So that’s something.

 

Janis comes close to passing out several times, but battles it for Cady’s sake. Cady makes her drink the rest of the water, which actually helps a bit, and eventually Janis doesn’t need to hide from the daylight anymore. Her stomach sloshes around, but she’s no longer queasy.

 

“So, did something happen?” Cady inquires at some point, sitting cross-legged on their patch of grass, drawing patterns on Janis’s palm.

 

“What do you mean?” Janis replies hoarsely, strangely calmed by the stroke of her fingertip. It’s methodic and soft, like Cady is committed to memorizing every centimeter.

 

Cady shrugs, not looking up. Her now chin-length caramel curls are tossed gently by the breeze, brushing against her cheeks. Janis thought her haircut was cute when she got it, but now it makes Janis more breathless than she was before.

 

And she’s not sure how that even started. Or how to make it stop.

 

“I dunno,” Cady sighs. “If something happened or you wanna talk about whatever, I’m here.” She lifts her head, and Janis’s throat goes dry all over again at how fucking blue her eyes are. Have they always been that blue?

 

This isn’t her. Her brain is rattled and confused and short of oxygen. Everything is distorted and unusual, so of course she’s not going to think straight. Or, clearly. Not going to think clearly.

 

She’s _not_ straight. But that’s irrelevant. Where is this train of thought headed?

 

“Okay,” Janis says, realizing she should say something. Her face is warm. That’s normal during an anxiety attack, right? Is that what you’d call this? Well, if she wasn’t having one before, she’s well on her way there now.

 

“We’re almost at your house,” Janis grunts, desperate for a change of scenery and subject. She can see the entrance to Cady’s neighborhood across the street. “Help me up, squirt.”

 

Cady scoffs, rolling her eyes, but gladly stands to help Janis get back on her feet. “You sure you can walk?” she asks tentatively.

 

No, but Janis’s butt hurts and she doesn’t want to sit on the ground anymore. “I’ll be good,” she sighs, brushing grass off her tights. “Let me lean on you, though.”

 

Cady gladly puts an arm around Janis’s waist while Janis has one over her shoulders, and Janis tries very hard not to think about how perfectly their limbs fit around one another. Like they are puzzle pieces themselves. But Janis shakes her head, refusing to think on that too hard.

 

“What were you saying about giraffes?” she mentions, hoping to steer Cady away from worrying about her and back to her point.

 

Janis listens this time as they meander to Cady’s house, soothed by the familiar peppy flow of her voice, and maybe a little by the firm grip Cady has on her.

 

They make it safely to Cady’s house. For once Janis is glad she let someone care.

 

* * *

 

“Janis Heidi Sarkisian, if you don’t open this window in point three seconds, I’m going to be _very_ upset,” Damian crows, rapping his knuckles on the pane. Janis spins in her desk chair towards him, toying with her pencil.

 

“I don’t recall inviting you over,” she teases, and he pouts.

 

“You didn’t have to, I know when you shouldn’t be alone,” he argues, and has a point about that. His mom friend meter must be on the fritz.

 

Sighing, Janis puts her pencil down and goes over to her window seat, unlocking and lifting the pane to allow entry. “Please, make yourself at home,” she greets sarcastically, gesturing to her unmade bed and the rest of her chaotic room. She’s been pushing it by not cleaning like her mom keeps asking her to.

 

“Do I smell popcorn?” Damian asks, nearly bonking his head as he ducks to climb inside.

 

“Yeah, from yesterday,” Janis deadpans, flopping back onto her chair.

 

“Dear Sappho,” he declares, hands on his hips. “Sweetie, this is not a healthy living environment. This is so bad. You need to practice self-care more often.”

 

“Who are you, one of those dudes from _Queer Eye_?” she says, finishing up a math problem and hating how she instantly wants Cady’s approval.

 

“Yes,” Damian replies without a hint of irony, and she leans back to watch him get to work. He snaps his fingers at her to do something about the collection of water bottles on her desk, and because she fears disappointing him more than her own mother, she obeys.

 

He won’t criticize her for being depressed, but what friend would he be if he didn’t help?

 

Janis doesn’t realize how beneficial a clean room can be until they’re done, because the knot in her chest that’s been there since Thursday finally unravels, and the fresh air smells sweet.

 

When Damian comes back after throwing in a load of laundry for her, he sits on the edge of her bed with his ankles crossed and says, “Talk to me.”

 

Backwards in her chair, chin on top of her hands, she rolls her eyes. “About what?”

 

“You know what, ma’am.” He’s right, she does. After she got home from school yesterday, she sort of unplugged from everything and everyone, lacking the energy to text or Snapchat or really do anything. It’s now Sunday afternoon, and Damian is the first person aside from her parents she has interacted with all weekend.

 

Sometimes she just goes into self-preservation mode, and there doesn’t need to be a reason for it. Well, this time there was, and she just hasn’t wanted to unload on anybody quite yet.

 

But now that Damian is here, she might not have a choice. He’s proven to be more coaxing and effective than a therapist. And Janis has had plenty of those.

 

It’s quiet for a while until he murmurs gently, “Cady told me what happened on Thursday after school. Are you okay?”

 

“Well, I am now,” she mumbles dryly, not seeing any cause for concern.

 

There’s a pause before Damian says bluntly, “Janis, you look like shit. Are you sleeping?”

 

“No, dingdong, I’m wide awake,” she deflects, bugging out her eyes and smiling to elaborate. He stares at her, not laughing.

 

But to answer his question, no, she hasn’t been sleeping. She’ll try and get a couple hours in but wake up mid-panic attack and then it’s impossible to fall back to sleep. She took a nap earlier, but she doesn’t feel rested. It’s like her brain is rotting.

 

Damian is saddened and worried just by looking at her, and motions for her to come over. Janis goes to him, because she can’t deny him a thing when he starts resembling a lost puppy, sitting directly on his lap even though she’s not that much smaller than him. But it’s still nice to feel his arms around her, and the familiar cush of his shoulder under her cheek when she puts her head down, hugging his neck. Someone who wouldn’t know any better might see them and make the wrong assumption—but if they thought they were soulmates, at least that’d be correct.

 

Which is totally sappy and disgusting, but Janis will allow it. It’s true to an extent. No one can or will love her the way Damian has and does.

 

Over the years he’s convinced her that staying alive for herself is the priority, and she hasn’t had the urge to do more than trace her scars in forever. That’s largely because of him and what he’s done to keep her whole.

 

If just the thought of someone keeps you from killing yourself, that matters.

 

“Are you okay?” she feels compelled to ask him, because she’s not the only one with baggage. You could argue he has more than her, but he wouldn’t want their suffering to be a competition. They endured a lot before finding each other, and somehow came together at the right time. It’s not that she’s grateful for her issues, but she’s glad she found him.

 

“Yeah,” Damian replies, delicately surprised. She wishes he wouldn’t be. He’s worth it, too. “I’m fine. I’m just worried about you.”

 

“Don’t be, I’ve been through worse. Sorry for ignoring you.”

 

“It’s fine. I know you like your space.” He squeezes her. “But it’s not good to be alone _too_ long.”

 

She traces the collar of his shirt thoughtfully. “I know.”

 

Truthfully, Janis hasn’t just been in a depression hole over Regina. Every time she tries to _not_ let her thoughts stray to Cady and that weird mild fixation Janis had on her the other day, she fails, and it’s beginning to stress her out. Because it was like that again on Friday, and it might be like that tomorrow when she sees her, and she’s scared it’ll be like that always.

 

Cady is beautiful and awkward and funny and smart, and paves a road of good intentions for everyone to walk upon. And it’s like a switch went on in Janis’s brain, seeing Cady that close, like she was seeing her for the first time. And Janis can’t find the switch to shut it down, so it keeps her from retreating to the darkness.

 

The worst part is a teeny tiny part of her doesn’t want to. While her instincts and internalized whatever are fighting to trap her own lesbian desires, something else refuses to be locked in—the very thing Regina intended to shame her for years ago. It wants out, and it wants to not shy away from these feelings. To be like her window: open and accepting. Because there’s a breeze on the back of her neck, and it feels nice. She sighs, and Damian brushes his thumb innocently over her thigh.

 

It’s not that she hates being gay. Really, she doesn’t. She just hates what comes with being gay. The constant target on her back. Having to simultaneously hide but also want to be seen, to make it perfectly clear what people said about her won’t stop her from being who she is.

 

“Dame?” she murmurs, and he hums his acknowledgement. “Being gay sucks.”

 

“Awww, medium slice.” He leans his head against hers, and she croaks a laugh. “It can. A lot. Is that what’s bothering you?”

 

She nods, suddenly fighting a barrage of tears, and he squeezes her sympathetically. “I’ve been dreaming about Regina,” she sniffs into his neck, and that’s all she needs to say. He sighs and rocks them back and forth a little, letting her cry if she wants to.

 

She’s been dreaming about Cady, too. The reasons clash in the most ironic way possible.

 

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says after a while, hand skimming her back. She knew that, but there’s a flash of doubt the moment she hears it, then comfort because it came from him. “Nothing that she did is your fault.”

 

“I just wish she’d feel bad about it,” Janis mutters bitterly. She fully believes Regina doesn’t if it’s been this long and there’s still no apology.

 

Janis really doesn’t want to hate her forever. But maybe she doesn’t have a choice.

 

More importantly, she doesn’t want to hate herself forever, because there’s a voice in her head that occasionally reminds her maybe what happened was her fault. That she got too attached to Regina and creeped her out. That she’s to blame even if she didn’t know she was gay yet.

 

If Regina’s just as cruel and heartless as Janis has always believed her to be, Janis hating who she is would be exactly what she wants. So maybe Janis hates her just enough to love herself a little more. Out of pure spite.

 

Janis isn’t sure what she wants, or how she really feels. And it scares her, not having a hand on the wheel. She’s so used to fighting for her life, for some semblance of control, that now that it is slipping through her fingers she feels panicked and alone.

 

But alone is something she’ll never be, and she takes comfort in that. She has Damian and Caddy. She will be okay, if it doesn’t seem like it now. Just because she could give up on herself doesn’t mean they would.

 

Her still foggy mind drifts back to Cady, almost like that’s its default state, and the corner of her mouth lifts just from remembering some silly thing Cady did last week. Janis has a lot of memories like that, initially pointless moments that actually mean a lot.

 

She has to wonder if Cady remembers dumb stuff about her, or if those things mean as much. If she smiles a little without even realizing it, too.

 

Maybe the switch in Janis’s head should stay on, to shine a light.

 

Girls like her are not meant to stay in the darkness forever. And she doesn’t want to become it.

 

* * *

 

Janis is uncharacteristically anxious to see Cady on Monday, and it frustrates her because this is not territory she’s familiar with. When they didn’t talk for those two weeks last spring, seeing her again only made Janis angry. But now she’s anticipating having to talk to her after shutting her out all weekend, and Janis is nervous.

 

To make matters worse, Damian is late because he got stuck in traffic, so Janis heads to her locker alone, biting her cheek. She’s not sure what she’s expecting; knowing Cady, she’ll just ask how Janis is and leave it at that. But there’s those voices in Janis’s head, wondering if it’ll go wrong, if Cady will be mad.

 

Janis’s heart plummets into her stomach then catapults back into her throat when she sees her small friend walking through the crowd towards her. But Cady beams at her when they make eye contact, and Janis’s pulse does something entirely different.

 

“Hey,” Cady chirps as she approaches, looking cute as a button in her overalls and light yellow shirt. Janis’s organs are doing weird things, twisting and churning inside her, both from anxiety and now affection.

 

How gross. Janis kind of hates whatever this is.

 

“Hi,” she replies, trying to sound normal but failing. There’s a pause as she finishes gathering up her stuff and zipping her backpack, and Cady watches her as though she’s a zoo animal.

 

“What?” Janis says self-consciously, unable to not be defensive.

 

“Oh, nothing,” Cady tells her quickly, slightly taken aback by her tone. Janis clenches her jaw but unclenches it, unsure what to do with her body language. It’s like she’s lost all control of how she presents herself to the world. Her many layers of clothes and eyeliner can only do so much, and she definitely no longer has both hands on the wheel.

 

Not that her layers deter Cady. Cady sees right through her, just like Damian can.

 

Janis wants to cry suddenly, but hasn’t reached a point where she feels comfortable doing so in front of Cady. She barely held it together the night of their fight, but won’t come that close today—especially when she doesn’t know what she’s upset over to begin with. They’re fine. Cady isn’t angry at her. Everything is okay.

 

Except it isn’t, and hasn’t been for Janis in a long time. If she were a guy, she’d have no trouble having a crush on Cady. She wouldn’t be haunted by memories of the trauma inflicted by her ex best friend if she wasn’t gay. It all ties back to Regina, and it always will.

 

“Um,” Cady is saying, aware that something weird is going on but not wanting to push Janis to her limit, “if you wanna come over to my house again later, you can. Or not, if you aren’t up for it. I just…miss you.”

 

“I miss you, too,” Janis murmurs, like asserting Cady matters to her is instinct. Cady smiles, sad and sweet, and Janis tries not to think about kissing her.

 

“Uh—maybe tomorrow,” she finally says, hating how awkward she’s being.

 

“Yeah, no pressure,” Cady assures. There’s a pause, then adds softly, “You okay?”

 

“Not really,” Janis admits, figuring there’s no point in denying it. Cady’s face falls and Janis can’t handle it, she honestly cannot handle it. Flexing one hand anxiously inside her jacket sleeve, the taller girl starts to inch away, out of habit, out of fear.

 

“I’ll see you later,” she tells Cady quietly, barely able to breathe let alone speak around the lump in her throat, and Cady doesn’t follow her as she walks off. She hurries as she presses through the crowd, slipping into the nearest girls’ room and practically busting the closest stall door down in her haste to hide.

 

She has no real reason to. But as she locks the door and sinks onto the edge of the toilet, head in her hands as she tries to catch her breath, the familiarity of the closed space is comforting in a lonely way. All her years in middle and high school and the one thing other than Damian that’s been consistent is these bathroom stalls. They’re always here, but she’s still alone.

 

Janis vaguely processes the bell ringing, but doesn’t get up to leave. She listens as the din out in the hall gradually grows quiet, but less than a minute later the bathroom door squeaks open. And like clockwork, like routine, like that first afternoon he walked in here to find her, Damian stops outside her stall and knocks politely.

 

“I have Rice Krispy Treats,” he announces optimistically, and Janis coughs a laugh into her wet hands. She hadn’t realized she was crying, or that her fingers are shaking.

 

So it takes her a moment to reach up and unlock the door in order for Damian to squeeze in. He bends down instantly, hands on her knees, and all she can do is lean her head against his, face hidden once again.

 

“Not existing sounds fun,” she mumbles, choking back a sob.

 

She doesn’t know what she’s saying, and doesn’t really mean that, but he grows stiff regardless. So she shakes her head, murmuring something about not being serious, and he leans up to hug her, pulling her close. It’s a tight, frightened hug, because he doesn’t believe her.

 

Who knows at this point. She feels herself slipping farther down this hole Regina dug for her. Even when Janis thinks she’s managed to climb back out, she gets kicked into it again. If this is going to be her life, maybe it’s not worth it.

 

She clings to Damian now, not wanting to entertain that thought, afraid to fall _that_ deep.

 

Phantom pain stings on her thighs, the inside of her wrists. She did it so often she can still feel it, three years clean. So maybe it wouldn’t matter if she started again.

 

The real war isn’t Janis versus Regina. It’s Janis versus herself. Always at war with both sides of a person who’s still struggling to feel whole. She can have a body but that means nothing if it isn’t filled with anything.

 

Even so, she knows she’ll feel worse if she gives in to the urge she has confidently kept buried since she was fourteen. So she turns her face into Damian’s neck and whispers, weakened voice heavy with shame, “There’s a pocket knife in my bag.”

 

He puts a hand on the back of her head and kisses the side of her face before standing up, not having to ask for a reason as he unzips her backpack and digs around. She closes her eyes so she won’t have to see it, and hears him put the knife away in his own, stoic but empathetic.

 

“I’m gonna take you home,” he says then, and she nods, accepting his hands.

 

The hallway is cavernous and silent as they head for the entrance, his arm around her waist. Janis is reminded of this one time where he escorted her to the nurse’s office when she was thirteen, because he had yet again found her in the bathroom.

 

He cleaned her cuts and gave her his jacket because she was wearing short sleeves. They told the nurse Janis had a stomach ache.

 

She’s beginning to have one now, as she buckles her seatbelt and swipes at the remaining tears in her eyes and on her face. She feels ugly and broken and pathetic. Like her body is too big and she takes up too much space and everyone would be better off without her, even Damian.

 

Regina moved on, so could they.

 

But Damian drives with one hand on the wheel, because the other is holding hers.

 

* * *

 

Janis passes out on her basement sofa after devouring the Rice Krispy Treats Damian saved for her, head in his lap with _Scream 2_ playing on the TV.

 

She doesn’t dream for once, finally spared of Regina and even Cady as she rests. She’s so tired all over, not just in her head.

 

Depression takes its toll in many different ways, and it’s like all of it is hitting at once. But she’s treading the water a bit easier with Damian here. He will always keep her from drowning.

 

Janis awakens hours later to the hum of voices, pushing past the surface of unconsciousness to discover her mother has ventured down to check on them. Immediately she feels a wave of guilt and anxiety, scared she’ll get in trouble for skipping school. Not because she would lose her phone, but because the last time she started missing days, it was getting bad then, too.

 

“Oh, hi, hon,” her mother greets as she quickly sits up, groggy and visibly unwell but trying so hard to avoid an interrogation.

 

“Hi,” Janis croaks, soothed somewhat by Damian’s solid body next to her.

 

“I called you but Damian answered, said you weren’t feeling too good,” Mrs. Sarkisian tells her, pressing the back of her hand to her daughter’s forehead.

 

Janis goes to respond, make some childish remark about being fine, but she can’t. So she lets her mom fuss, accepting another blanket when offered to her, speaking only to insist Damian stay when Mrs. Sarkisian ponders whether or not whatever she has is contagious.

 

How ironic. Regina would certainly think it is.

 

Janis sighs as her mom goes back upstairs to get her something to drink. Damian takes her hand again, and she squeezes.

 

“You don’t _have_ to stay, though,” she murmurs, tongue heavy in her mouth.

 

He gasps softly, offended. “I can’t believe you’d even suggest that.”

 

Janis smiles and puts her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry for being such a mess.”

 

“Honey.” He puts his other hand on top of hers. “Don’t ever apologize to me.”

 

Mrs. Sarkisian returns then, with two cups of grape juice, and Janis wouldn’t expect anything less from the woman who still believes Janis likes grape juice. Janis doesn’t have the heart to tell her she lost interest after Regina. That was _their_ thing.

 

Little things like that just remind Janis there’s still so much her parents don’t know. They think they do, and she’ll allow them to take comfort in that. Because she’s not ready to go through a new batch of therapists or be pulled from school again. It’s only been a few days, but it’d only been a few days the first time.

 

So Janis accepts the juice, despite how shitty it’s going to make her feel.

 

She could not possibly feel worse. So why not.

 

Her mother leaves them be after that, and the pair rewatch the movie in companionable silence since neither feel like getting up to put something else on. Janis missed most of it, anyway.

 

She somehow hears Cady’s text tone through her bag across the room, for her backpack is in her dad’s recliner. Damian sees her staring at it and asks if he can get it for her, but she shakes her head, throat going dry.

 

She knows she can’t do this forever. But she can for right now.

 

Damian looks like he knows it’s Cady—how could he not know and how could it not be—but is hesitant to pry. Ultimately he can’t help himself, so Janis takes a deep breath as he goes to pause the movie and turn to her.

 

“Are you and Caddy in a fight?” he asks bluntly, and she lets her head fall back on the couch.

 

“No,” she groans, dragging her hands down her face. “It’s not like that. I’m depressed, Dame, I need to save my energy for a select few people.”

 

“You mean just me,” he points out, and she rolls her eyes even though he’s right.

 

“Sure, yeah, just you,” she concedes, poking him in the arm in a fruitless attempt to lighten the mood. He looks at her very intensely, like he’s trying to break inside her head.

 

Even after all these years, there’s still some things Damian can’t do.

 

But Janis feels it piling up within her, something akin to roots taking hold of her ribs as they sprout from the center of her chest. Wrapping around her lungs, her heart. They’re going to keep spreading if she doesn’t talk.

 

She looks down at her hands as she works her jaw, trying to remember how to speak. Then she admits in a voice that doesn’t sound like her own, “I haven’t just been thinking about Regina.”

 

He remains quiet, for she left it open, not quite done. Her stomach hurts so badly and it’s either the juice or whatever is growing inside her. Telling the truth can be so agonizing.

 

“Can you keep a secret?” Janis asks next, and he gives her that deadpan _yeah, duh_ look, so she hooks her pinkie around his. Then she closes her eyes, counts to ten, and says, “I think I’m in love with Caddy, and it’s killing me slowly.”

 

She keeps her eyes shut, because she’s honestly too tired to open them, and just waits. Waits for a sound, an answer of some sort. A sign that maybe she’ll be okay.

 

A solid minute passes with no response, and Janis nervously looks at him again. He looks like he’s not sure _what_ to say or do, eyes on the ceiling as he goes over that in his head. He plucks at a loose thread on his jeans, and her gaze drops to his arm, because even in her current state she has to check on him, too.

 

They’re faint, but they’re there. If she put her arm against his, they’d mirror each other.

 

Her throat closes up then, a dry sob choking its way out, and she finds refuge in her hands once again. Quietly, Damian moves their blankets so he can scoot as close to her as possible, an arm around her shoulder so as not to push it. Ever so gentle.

 

“I don’t know what to do,” Janis mumbles, feeling like she’s already lost the battle.

 

Damian kisses the top of her head, and she leans against him miserably. “You don’t have to do anything,” he reminds her softly. “I won’t tell her.”

 

His voice is light, supportive, but terribly sad. And so Janis just cries, and realizes Damian not really saying anything is what she needed. Sometimes nothing is better, and just having him here beside her is enough. It always has been, and it always will be.

 

* * *

 

“I will say that I think you should talk to her,” Damian admits that evening, perched on the edge of Janis’s bathroom counter as she washes her face.

 

Soap dripping from her chin, she gives him an aghast look. “Please mean Caddy.”

 

He raises his eyebrows. “Yeah. Caddy. What, do you really think I’d tell you to willingly go talk to Regina George? Sweetie.”

 

She scoffs, rinsing her face then grabbing her towel to dry off. “Right, sorry,” she mutters. “Have not had a good nights’ sleep in days. Forgive me.”

 

He reaches out to tap her nose. “I just think avoiding her is just gonna make it worse.”

 

Janis huffs a sigh, hanging her towel back up then joining him on the sink. “Yeah, I know,” she whispers sheepishly. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to say. And if I tell her, what’s the point? What’s she gonna do? We’re not gonna ride off into the sunset.”

 

“Regina and Shane Oman had an affair in the lion costume,” Damian reminds her. “So. Stranger things have happened.”

 

She laughs weakly, then pretends to gag. “God. Someone needs to burn that thing,” she muses, then gasps. “Oh, that’s an idea for a senior prank. We have to do that. We’ll steal it at the end of next year and just fucking torch it in the parking lot.”

 

“Loves it, but also, you’re stalling,” he says, looking down at her pointedly.

 

Janis pouts, not really wanting to talk about it but not having a choice now. “I just don’t wanna lose her,” she admits, throat and eyes prickling at the mere thought. “Like, she’s obviously not gonna feel the same, but then she knows, and what are we supposed to do? We can’t be the exact same after that. Everyone always says the friendship is more important, so maybe if I just don’t tell her, nothing weird will happen.”

 

“But you’ll just suffer,” Damian says gently. “Every time you’ll look at her you’re just gonna think about all the things you haven’t said. And it’ll eat you alive.”

 

“Okay, drama queen.” She pokes him in the thigh. “Joke’s on you, I suffer enough as it is.”

 

He rolls his eyes, but puts his arm around her. “If it were me,” he begins carefully, “I’d want to know. Even if I didn’t feel the same, I’d want to know if my friend liked me. Because then you go from there. And wherever you two go is up to you. I just think she deserves to know, and even if she doesn’t like you back, you’ll feel better once she knows. Because avoiding her isn’t helping, is it? And you can’t do it forever.”

 

Janis closes her eyes, wishing she were asleep or dead.

 

Love is so hard. The worst part about what she feels for Cady is that it wasn’t her choice. She did not wake up one day and decide to be in love with her. It just sort of happened.

 

Too quickly for her liking, not something she could ease into. And she hates that it’s festering, a thing that feels dirty and wrong and needs to be cut out.

 

She knows if she were in a better state of mind, she wouldn’t see it that way. Because most of the time she really does love liking girls. But her confidence can only hold up for so long, and trauma doesn’t let go without a fight.

 

But Damian is right, as usual. Cady’s probably confused, worried, and a little hurt that Janis is acting weird around her. And Janis honestly doesn’t think she can pretend, act like everything is suddenly fine days from now. Because the love won’t just go away.

 

And if it were her, like Damian said, what would she want? If Cady started being skittish in her presence, that’d freak her out. She’d be concerned, and scared she did something wrong. Janis doesn’t want Cady to feel like that, no more than she already has. Sure, she could just say she’s been having a rough time and leave it at that, but knowing what’s really going on and keeping that from her—she couldn’t.

 

Not anymore, at least. Janis would want to know.

 

So, she’ll tell her. Soon. And they’ll start again from there.

 

* * *

 

Later that night, after Janis has successfully encouraged Damian to go home, she crawls into bed with her phone, chewing her nail as she thumbs through her notifications. There’s a pang of guilt as she reads Cady’s light but fretful text from hours ago.

 

Janis types out several feeble responses before erasing a fifth in frustration, for the words just don’t sound right. Nothing is right.

 

She spends a solid ten minutes debating whether or not to just call her. Not because it’s late, but because she’s unsure if that’s the path she should take.

 

Just as she’s going to give up and try to get some inevitably botched sleep, she’s struck by what can only be considered divine intervention when a call from Cady starts to come through.

 

Well. That sure decides it. Thanks, Sappho.

 

Heart thumping, lip between her teeth, Janis figures why not—she’s already gotten this far—and taps the green button. Phone to her ear, she hears the rustle of paper as the call picks up, and smiles automatically at the mental image of Cady sitting crisscross on her bed, organizing her homework. Probably a half-finished friendship bracelet lost somewhere in the mess, soon to be rediscovered as she cleans up.

 

“Hey,” Cady greets casually, and her tired voice is the tiniest bit raspy.

 

“Hi,” Janis replies, belated by a few seconds because of that.

 

“Didn’t think you’d pick up,” Cady says, but doesn’t sound accusatory. “Thought I’d try.”

 

“Yeah. I doubt I’ll be falling asleep soon, anyway.” Janis doesn’t mean to be bitter, but it slips out the way a snake’s tongue pokes at the air.

 

Cady makes a sad little noise. “Aw, why do you say that?” she asks, and gasps quietly to herself a second later, predictably finding her bracelet like Janis suspected.

 

“Oh, you know,” Janis sighs, rubbing her eyes. “I just…haven’t been sleeping great.”

 

She hears Cady grab her water bottle and a piece of tape to secure the threads so she can keep going. “Still?” Cady inquires, recalling the other day.

 

“Still,” Janis confirms morosely.

 

“Aw. Have you tried drinking tea or something? What’s keeping you up? Are you anxious?”

 

 _Oh, lots of things,_ Janis muses sarcastically, but doesn’t want to be snarky out loud. “Just. Bad thoughts,” she confesses.

 

Cady is quiet for a minute, contemplatively so. “Bad thoughts how? Are you okay?”

 

Janis’s eyes burn with tears then, and she squeezes them shut tight, so tight it hurts, until it stops. She just knows Cady is staring at her phone, fingers working methodically, wishing she could be there. To shake Janis’s shoulders and tell her it’s okay not to be okay. To talk to her, to just say _something_ after the few days they’ve had.

 

“I’m fine,” Janis lies, voice strained, mad at herself for not being brave enough to say otherwise. Strength comes and goes, and it’s leaving her right when she needs it.

 

There’s another silence before Cady murmurs, almost sounding like she’s trying not to cry also, “I’m not saying this to make you feel worse than you probably do, but if I did something wrong, would you tell me?”

 

“Of course,” Janis says immediately. “Of course I would. You didn’t do anything. This has been me, not you. And I—” Her voice catches, lump in her throat. “I’m sorry for keeping you out of the loop. I just haven’t been like this in a while and I guess I didn’t want you to see it.”

 

“But I’m your friend.” Now Cady is wounded, tentative. “I’m sure Damian’s been taking care of you, but that’s what I’m here for, too. Do you… I mean, I totally get it if you don’t, but do you not trust me with certain things?”

 

Janis’s brow furrows. “God, no. I trust you, Caddy.”

 

 _It’s me I don’t trust,_ she doesn’t say. _It’s me I feel like I don’t know._

 

“Okay,” Cady says softly. “I meant it when I said you can tell me anything. No matter what it is. I just wanna help. If Damian can’t be there, you know I am.”

 

Janis isn’t bothering to quell her tears now, beginning to feel nauseous. She could do it, she has the chance right now. It’s something that should probably happen face to face, but maybe if she doesn’t she definitely never will.

 

Her gut twists, and she closes her eyes again. The unknown canvas of the rest of her life awaits, and it could start with this, a single drop of paint.

 

Her little self would want this—despite being uncertain of the outcome, having the courage to do this is enough. To be brave and tell the girl (a girl, not a boy, and maybe that’s not such a bad thing after all) she likes that she likes her. An act of defiance, of pride. Janis doesn’t feel proud yet, but pushing herself could give her back what she’s been lacking, and missing.

 

“Did you fall asleep?” Cady is asking, sad but affectionate, for a stretch of minutes have passed without either of them speaking.

 

“No.” Janis shakes her head, swiping at her cheeks. “Hey, Caddy?”

 

Her heart is roaring, like a lion standing at the edge of a rock and just letting loose (or whatever it is lions do—Cady would know). Making its presence known to all who dare get in its way.

 

“Yeah?” Cady says expectantly.

 

 _Please don’t leave me, too,_ Janis prays, one last wish before everything changes.

 

“I have to tell you something,” she admits, taking a deep breath. Her stomach still hurts as the roots in her ribs battle the butterflies about to take flight.

 

“Okey dokey,” Cady answers patiently, ever so sweet and kind and willing.

 

Whatever happens, Janis can count on her to be kind. That’s why she loves her so much.

 

“I love you,” is all Janis can think to say, going in without a script or a plan or an idea. But it feels right once it’s said, because she doesn’t need anything. She can do this on her own. She can be brave when she’s meant to be broken.

 

“Aw,” Cady replies, oblivious but touched. “I love you, too, Janis.”

 

“No, like.” Janis searches for the words, swimming aimlessly in her head. “I _love_ you.”

 

There is a very long pause. She holds her breath.

 

“Oh,” Cady finally reacts, and Janis can picture her cute surprised face, blue eyes bugging. Her curls are probably a mess, framing the expression like she’s a cherub. “Okay.”

 

“Yeah,” Janis says, still breathless, then laughs because she doesn’t know what else to say. “Uh, so. Yeah, I…I wanted you to know.”

 

“Yeah,” Cady agrees, sounding dazed. “Wow. Um. Alright.”

 

“I don’t mean for it to be weird,” Janis assures apologetically, trying to savor the flicker of relief she’s feeling for putting it out there. “It’s just been…on my mind and I think you should know.”

 

“Yeah,” Cady whispers again. “Okay.”

 

“Are you okay?” Janis wonders, trying to push down the urge to panic.

 

“I don’t know,” Cady tells her earnestly. “I need a minute.”

 

 _Shit, shit, shit._ Janis swallows, putting the call on speaker because her hand is shaking so bad. If these are the last few seconds of their friendship before it disintegrates into nothingness, at least Janis was finally honest.

 

One minute becomes two, two becomes three, three becomes four, and so on. Janis listens as Cady gets off her bed, likely to put her homework and bracelet aside, then presumably crawls under the covers after turning off the light.

 

“Hi,” she whispers, and Janis could cry at the shy warmth in her voice.

 

“Hi,” Janis echoes, staring at the ceiling. Waiting for what’s next, whatever that may be.

 

“Ummm. So.” Cady laughs awkwardly. “I dunno what to say.”

 

“You don’t have to say anything, love.” Janis bites her lip. It’s not over yet.

 

“Yeah, but I want to,” Cady argues gently. So stubborn. So Caddy. “I guess, uh… I wasn’t thinking this is how my night would go. But it’s alright. That’s not…it’s not a bad thing.”

 

“It’s not?” Janis asks, grinning like a big stupid idiot. She _feels_ like a big stupid idiot, but in the best possible way.

 

“Nope,” Cady hums, giddy. “Definitely not bad at all.”

 

“Well, good,” Janis mumbles, her body now heavy with love. “Me, too.”

 

It gets quiet, but it’s calm. Janis pulls the cord from her drawer to plug in her phone, putting it beside her on the nightstand to watch the seconds tick by.

 

Cady does the same, and the moment doesn’t require anything else from them. Janis soon lets her eyelids droop shut, and her tired, tired body melts into the mattress.

 

Tomorrow she will wake up naturally without a blade in her ribs. She can cut out the roots with it instead, and tend to the wound like she’s been doing for years. It might not ever heal all the way, but everyone has battle scars. She’ll bear hers how she does everything: boldly.

 

So now she can rest. And starting tomorrow, like all things must, she can be proud.

 

She’ll see Cady at school, and her heart will race out of excitement, not fear. And it’ll be the most herself she’s ever felt.

 

The life Janis always wanted begins when she is seventeen.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! happy pride. kudos and comments are fetch ♡


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